[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","textbody"]




More electricity pulses from their palm, the radial sweep of an ELECTRIC TERRAIN fanning out across the water’s uneven surface. Crackling across the ocean erratically.
A mocking gasp can be heard through the mist, and Fern’s hand even lifts to their mouth in false offense. “You’ve already forgotten me? How cold.”[break][break]
The wind of the HURRICANE scatters some of the fog and ruffles through their hair, but they are unfazed by it. Whether it reveals them, is up to how close Matias is paying attention.[break][break]
“I will always know you.” A bitter, hissed edge slips out from behind their playful act. “You made sure of it.”

[attr="class","milkycred"]
MILKY

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","textbody"]



The shore, it seems, is rife with worn out league members. Something that suits Fern just fine as they see no issue in picking off those who are exhausted, those who are better off giving up the ghost. Meraxes drifts in a lazy circle overhead, just low enough that a quick, crash landing will not prove difficult should she be needed.[break][break]
A soft bellow huffs from the beast, and Fern looks up to signal her to hold. They bank on the stealth of their sableye, who sneaks through shadow and fog to find opponents who might be taken by surprise.[break][break]
Sadly, though, it seems they’ve been spotted sooner rather than later—unbeknownst to Fern. Granted, they’re not trying too hard to hide themself. In fact, they practically traipse across the sandy ground, delighting in the idea of sending little mice scurrying back to the safety of their bases and their camps.[break][break]
After all, why should they hide? They conjure up no pretense as to why they’re here. There is no need for subtlety.

[attr="class","milkycred"]
MILKY

[attr="class","inner"]

[attr="class","bottom"]

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","textbody"]



“We can stop, for a minute.” Somewhere high in the air, out of sight, they know Tapu Koko is keeping a watchful eye.[break][break]
They can sense that nearness.[break][break]
So for the moment it feels alright, though probably not for long. Their fingers knit with his, and squeeze soft. And wordlessly, they look him over for any signs of overt distress.[break][break]
Pink mist curls around their ankles, sparse and unnoticed—for the time being.[break][break]
“Quiet, for now.” Their mouth turns down in a frown as they say it, maybe as if they don’t quite believe it.[break][break]
In places like this, nothing good ever comes from the silence.

[attr="class","milkycred"]
MILKY

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","textbody"]


[break][break]
[break][break]
[break][break]
[break][break]


The fairy lights of the Glimwood Tangle always beckon them. A soft bioluminescence in the swallowing dark to brighten the velvety tops of overgrown mushrooms.[break][break]
The colors—pops of fuschia and cornflower and verdant green, are much more enticing than the dusty streets of Stow-on-Side. It’s the whimsy that pulls Fern there, all of eleven and knobby-kneed. Stick-limbed and messy hair. Scraped skin and eyes wide.[break][break]
The Glimwood Tangle whispers to them, low and inviting.[break][break]
And so he goes to play.[break][break]
The phantasms in the gloom and grass of winding tree knots and draping moss are not nearly so frightening. Not in the way the other kids their age claim. But then again, Fern has never fit in with them.[break][break]
Not really.[break][break]
He is loud and opinionated, and just a little too strange. They call his blithe, blue-eyed stare weird, and his stories stupid. He is, in their watered down, childish terms, a freak.[break][break]
He is a precocious child, and so he claims the word they should use is actually whimsical, thank you very much.[break][break]
Before he found the tangle, it bothered him more. Now he goes to get lost, because the spectral presence will always nudge him back in the right direction.[break][break]
This all feels familiar. Secondhand. But the draw of the glimwood tangle becomes foggy and dreamlike. Pink-tinged and dazey the further he goes.[break][break]
There is a certain respect and reverence in the silence. Their own chattery mouth goes quiet most days, though sometimes they speak to the corporal shapes of transparent gastly and patient misdreavus.[break][break]
But it is better to be quiet, though, because then they will help Fern find things. Trinkets mostly, or gifts from the forest. They follow that lead. Their dreepy bundled in the safety of their arms.[break][break]
And this is how he finds another lost boy.[break][break]
A boy from the other side of the tangle.[break][break]
Soon their laughter fills up the quiet of the glimwood tangle. Startling the litwicks and the phantumps who peer out of their hiding places—curious at the sound of childish glee.[break][break]
And somehow, this too, is reverent.[break][break]
This is a wealth of the heart.[break][break]
They simply do not know this. Not yet.[break][break]
The boy from Ballonlea has violet eyes and a mop of cinder dark hark and a more naturally quiet disposition unlike his own. But his cheeks don rosy shades with little more than a word from Fern, and he is endlessly entertaining, Fern decides.[break][break]
The same sort of unspoken lonely, too. For people do not ghost Pokémon make.[break][break]
Michail Volkov from Ballonlea.[break][break]
Their knees are drawn toward their chest, and azure eyes peer at him from just above the fold of their arms.[break][break]
They are rich and they are full, just in this. To find someone else here in their haven, because it is his haven too. He understands in a way even Fern’s da does not quite. He only pretends with an amused shake of his head.[break][break]
But in the low cast off glow of neon hue, they feel seen in a way that feels older than eleven. They can’t say what makes the trickle of words filter into their mind, or where it comes from. How these aching words are somehow older than themself:[break][break]
“—Do you ever wonder what it would be like if our lives were like this every day?”[break][break]
They don’t have to wonder, because it is so.[break][break]
“Shall we indulge in a daydream, then? Just for a little while?”[break][break]
They don’t have to ask, because it is real.[break][break]
In a hazy, glowbug dim world built between them, that is only theirs—[break][break]
always, from the very start…[break][break]
they call him Mischa.

[attr="class","milkycred"]
MILKY

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","textbody"]



Where Genevieve Cromwell is worn out from so much time spent fighting, Fern is spry and clear-eyed. Coming into the fight late, as bolstered reinforcement, means that they have the energy that is waning within the league forces.[break][break]
Vitality strengthens their steps along the shoreline, sturdy and secure as electrical waves also situate a current in their system. Somewhere above, they know that Tapu Koko is flitting—remaining not far out of reach, but not exactly participating in the fun, either. Not yet.[break][break]
Instead, it is Sidhe who approaches them first, the sableye having split away from their side to scout in their shadowy, sneaky way. She tugs on Fern’s pant leg with earnest intent. Somewhere behind them, a hisuian goodra takes up a flanking position. Lumbering to catch up with the other two.[break][break]
“Show me what you’ve found, little imp,” they coo at their pokemon, and the sableye eagerly complies with a cackle before she skitters forward to lead Fern to their quarry.[break][break]
“Ah, what’s this?” Their voice is a playful trill that belies crueler intent. “A fletchling fallen from the nest.” Fern’s head tilts, fox mask covering the top half of their face, but the slyness of their smile remains visible.[break][break]
“Should you be out here on your own, Little Red?”[break][break]
They snap their fingers in one, crisp cracking sound as they smile. The attack is immediate—Niskus tilts forward onto all fours as the lash of a POWER WHIP unfurls in a sharp swipe that aims to take the ranger’s feet out from under her.

[attr="class","milkycred"]
MILKY

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","textbody"]




They sweep around the outskirts of the island, on the lookout for any stragglers that might slip in behind the main forces. Fern wouldn’t call it guard duty so much as clean up. The curl of pink, interdream mist makes for a useful cover as they float on the back of their dragapult. Somewhere, an additional grapploct lurks.[break][break]
But who they find on the water is nothing short of a delight. Though perhaps a cruel sort.[break][break]
“Well, well..” they speak in a cooing drawl, smile curling on their mouth, though they don’t yet make themself visible to MATIAS SILPH. “Look who it is.”[break][break]
That smile is more of a frozen snarl, though. Memory of their last encounter rises to the surface. There is a phantom twinge at the side of their head.[break][break]
Fern points his dragapult low, just enough so that their fingertips can drift along the surface of unsteady waters. Electricity flares from their touch, crackling against the wetness and spreading in a wide parameter across the top of the water.[break][break]
“Who’s there?” they echo his prior question through the mist before a laugh peal through the air. It echoes, obscuring their exact location. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”[break][break]
Are they really there? Or are they just a figment?

[attr="class","milkycred"]
MILKY